


don't know how but i'm taller

by oforamuse



Series: season 11 [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 11x01, Fill, M/M, Season 11, reaction fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:09:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oforamuse/pseuds/oforamuse
Summary: he’s always had to step up. whether it be with ian, his family or mexican drug cartels. things have always been expected from him, needed from him, wanted from him.mickey knows he’s got to step up - he knows that.11x01 reaction fic
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: season 11 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053422
Comments: 10
Kudos: 172





	don't know how but i'm taller

**Author's Note:**

> hey all. i didn't mean for this to take up until pretty much the next episode but life can be busy sometimes! i hope you enjoy this little exploration of the things touched on in 11x01. shameless' writing sucks and this is the best i can do. 
> 
> thank you to [michelle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086414/chapters/55229047) for reading this over! <3
> 
> title taken from [garden song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1u8rIx65QgA) by phoebe bridgers

When Ian slides in behind Mickey, the mattress shifts under his weight and gravity kicks in, Mickey rolls in an inch or so slightly towards his husband. 

They both drank a beer or two too many and though his bones are heavy from the day, there’s a low, electric buzz under Mickey’s skin. It flickers along his veins, a fierce current bouncing from joint to joint and in between sinew - it’s going to be difficult to fall asleep, he can tell. 

The night had been a fun one. Beers were passed, the volume was raised and conversational chatter turned quickly into slurred words of unbridled joy. Watching Lip’s hard work come together slowly over the last few months has been an interesting journey to observe from a distance - there’s a fixed look of exhaustion on his face these days from juggling everything at once, but the pride of having his own home hasn’t worn off. Considering how close he’d been to the edge a few months prior, Mickey’s proud of the guy. 

Mickey’s been quietly enjoying being integrated into the Gallagher family in ways he hadn’t quite cut it before - he’s no longer living with one foot in and out of the door. 

He’s a Gallagher - not quite by name yet, but by heart and law. 

Ian sniffs as Mickey settles himself back against his chest. The short, sharp intake of breath is one Mickey’s grown used to over the years and on the very rare occasions these days that they’re apart for the night, he misses it. 

He missed it for years. 

It’s usually around this time of night when he’s lying in bed next to Ian, that he begins to think of the many nights in the past where he fell asleep alone. They creep in slowly, reminding him of the days where his future looked bleak and bare. 

Growing up; Terry towering over him like a guillotine blade poised to swing down, prison; four pale walls and an unforgiving distance to his life beyond barbed wire, Mexico; the road to freedom but with a vacant seat beside him as he drove. 

Sometimes Mickey worries he’s going to wake up back in those empty beds, in his empty life, with his empty heart - shit too good to be true and he’s still stuck, wading through fog without a flashlight. 

Tonight though, the lonely thoughts don’t threaten harshly but hang in the corners of his periphery, seeping back into their hiding places until the next chance to strike. There’s something else bothering him, bothering them both and it lays on thick. His heartbeat thumps in his ears as the alcohol thrums through his veins, and he lies next to Ian with a ring on his finger that sits happily, but heavily. 

“You good?” Ian mumbles, his hot, malty breath warm against his ear and Mickey realises, lost in his thoughts, that he must’ve made a sound without realising. 

“Yeah.” Mickey says around a yawn, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. It’s been a long, weird day for the both of them. He’s felt unsettled since their conversation on the porch and his fingers itch to clench around their bed-sheet. 

This is where they’d usually turn towards one another. A hand to the thigh, a cold toe to the ankle, a fingertip to the hip, but Mickey holds himself in place. He breathes.

Mickey knows he’s got to step up - he knows that. 

He’s always had to step up. Whether it be with Ian, his family or Mexican drug cartels. Things have always been expected from him, needed from him, wanted from him. 

Ian’s disappointed face earlier during their conversation on the porch has tattooed itself onto the back of Mickey’s eyelids and when he blinks, he’s reminded of everything that is piling up on his shoulders and weighing him down. 

Monogamy. Money. Marriage. 

This shit wasn’t supposed to be so hard, so complicated, so headache inducing. 

Yet, there’s a piercing throb on the side of his skull and Mickey knows he’s got to move. 

The urge to make a comment - something flippant and disparaging - threatens. Didn’t have to pussy out on me earlier. He swallows it down and twists himself around in Ian’s tempting hold - fingertips on his side, the slow tracing of his hip bones inside his boxers - and looks at him. 

Ian makes a sound as he moves, smacking his lips together lazily and something unhinges inside of Mickey, pushing the words out of his throat. 

“Tried to get a job today.” Mickey reveals, and Ian’s eyebrows pull together in response, a mask of disbelief that pricks at Mickey’s skin. It’s true, he had. After Ian had left him in the bath and gone to work without another word - Mickey’s hastily written IOUs strewn across the bathroom floor - he guiltily went down to the laundromat a few blocks over. He’s been using it weekly to get them to sign his employment stubs. 

Threatening. Threatening to get them to sign his employment stubs.

Mickey can admit that using their wedding money for menial things like beer and lube was a pretty shitty move - but, he had intended to pay it back. He wasn’t lying when he said he was good for it. 

But, being good for it just got a little more complicated and the rate he was writing IOUs got away from him. Money was exciting, having shit was exciting. It won’t help his case so he bites back the urge to mention it, but it wasn’t like he ever wanted Ian to find out he had been using the money - the plan had always been to replace it long before Ian noticed. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” He scratches his nose, yawns again. Thinks about the terrified guy’s face earlier and something nags at the back of his head to feel bad about it. “Didn’t work though. Asshole didn’t wanna give me one after all the shit I’ve pulled.” 

Ian hums, in a humourless not sure what else you expected kind of way, and pulls him in closer. 

There’s silence for a moment, broken only by a cry ringing out from another room across the hall - it’s pretty late, Franny must be struggling to go down, but Mickey can tell Ian’s on the edge of saying something so he waits. 

“We gotta be in this together, Mick.” Ian says eventually with a sigh, his tone not dissimilar from his one earlier. “Our money. You gotta get a job.”

“I’ll pay back the wedding money,” Mickey says instead, the words tumbling out bluntly and Ian breathes out heavily besides him - like he doesn’t believe him. It’s irritating, “I will.” 

Mickey knew why he did it - spent their money so willingly. For as long as he’s known, his pockets have always had holes in. Money meant work. It meant pushing drugs, threats and back alley deals of illegally lifted arms, and anything Mickey had managed to scrape together as a kid went straight into Terry’s bail out fund - or if he was out of prison, directly into his pocket. He knows the Gallaghers didn’t have it easy either and that Fiona busted her ass to make ends meet for the rest of them, but the temptation to spend money he hadn’t had to do anything for was too great. 

What was wrong with a couple of dollars on some lube and beer? It was their money after all. 

Ian wants to save for a place of their own and Mickey wants that too, but why the rush? Why the insistence to pull their lives together so suddenly when it feels like only days ago the shackles were unlocked from around Mickey’s wrists? 

For the first time in his life, Mickey’s living on his own time and he wants to take it. 

“We’re married now. Things are different.” Ian says, cutting into Mickey’s thoughts and he bites back a frustrated groan. 

He doesn’t want to unpick the argument they'd only just managed to stitch up over a few beers at Lip’s, but the guilt he’s reluctantly feeling makes him want to snap back. 

“I’ll get a job.” Mickey repeats into the darkness, his pride a burden too heavy to shift and apologise properly. 

“Okay.” Ian says with a sense of tired finality, like he’s done with the conversation for now, and Mickey welcomes it. 

They shift away from each other and Mickey listens to Ian’s slow breathing as they both settle down. The soft inhales and heavy, sighing exhales, his chest rising and falling in a consistent rhythm, and he’s struck by the other talking point from their conversation on the porch. 

The ink smudged, crumpled up piece of paper left on the bottom step. 

Ian’s question about monogamy had hit like a bucket of ice water and in that moment, Mickey had panicked, worried that his lungs were going to fill up and drown him. The sudden vulnerability of not being on the same page, the threatening uncertainty, the spike of hot jealousy - he choked on it. 

He wasn’t going to be the one to stand up and leave his heart bare - not if Ian wanted something else.

The thought twists in his chest like the roots of an ancient tree and wraps itself around his ribs, tightening around his bones. 

Someone else touching Ian, someone’s else's skin, breath and come. It makes his mouth taste like bile. He doesn’t want that. 

If there’s anything Mickey doesn’t need to spend money on or write ill thought out IOUs for, it's the wealth of love he’s carried around since he was a teenager - all of it for Ian. He’s rich in it and it spills out of his heavily weighted pockets in excess.

If love could be monetised, traded and exchanged - Mickey would be a fuckin’ billionaire. 

Luxury living in abundance. 

He’s got to trust that. Trust in Ian. Trust the vows they exchanged. 

Even when a clear day becomes a storm and Mickey gets picked up by the wind, he’s got to trust. 

When the water becomes mud and Mickey can’t see the bottom, he’s got to trust. 

When the fire burns out and Mickey can’t light another spark, he’s got to trust. 

They’ve come this far and the only way he wants to go further is with Ian. 

He’ll get a job soon, maybe not tomorrow or next week - but there is one thing Mickey wants to make absolutely clear. 

He turns back onto his side abruptly and closes the gap between them, Ian humming in surprised pleasure when their lips touch. 

“Mick-”

“You’re the only one for me, Gallagher.” Mickey says into Ian’s mouth. It’s a hot, breathy murmur, but when the words are mumbled out, he knows he’s never spoken anything else so true.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy this week's episode! i'm looking forward to some uncle mickey. 
> 
> as always, find me on [ twitter](https://twitter.com/buzzcutian)/[ tumblr (fic) ](https://oforamuse.tumblr.com)/[ tumblr (main) ](https://matteoamiras.tumblr.com)
> 
> see you soon! <3


End file.
